


Awakening

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [19]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Here we go, M/M, Potential Triggers, Things are going down, okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything seems to be riding on the Arkenstone. And if Thorin gets it, what then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Okay people...I don't want to spoil anything, but I do feel the need to post a trigger warning. If you feel the need, read the notes at the end for more info.

He needs to give Thorin the Arkenstone. He'd been pondering it for a long while, as he dug through pile after pile of treasure, partly to keep busy and partly to look the part. After all the scenarios he'd tossed around in his mind, it came down to the fact that Thorin was single minded and obsessed...and Bilbo wasn't sure that keeping it hidden was the right idea. He kept turning it all over and over but in the end, he hoped that having the Arkenstone would lessen Thorin's rage and disappointment. He thought that, if he gave Thorin the Arkenstone, that he would feel secure and successful, and would no longer need to micro manage every aspect of everyone's lives. Maybe then he would let Bilbo breathe. Maybe then he would be reasonable.

Oh, Bilbo knew there were many ways that this could go wrong. On the other hand, no matter what he did, it could still go so very wrong. With Thorin in this state no one was really safe, and all Bilbo could hope to do was to snap him out of it. The entire situation was fraught with pitfalls. 

The morning was upon him before he knew it, and the people of Laketown were no doubt approaching, the Master or perhaps one of his lackeys. They would ask for what was promised to them, and Thorin...well. There was no doubt in Bilbo's mind. Thorin would deny it to them. Perhaps...unless the Arkenstone was found. 

“Bilbo!” Bofur was above on the steps that lead to the main halls. “Thorin called us to the gate! Bard approaches.”

“Bard?” Bilbo asked, surprised. The four who had rejoined them from Laketown hadn't been certain that Bard or his son had lived, so Bilbo was happy to hear that he had. “I'm coming.” 

He scrambled up out of the gold, taking a different path, but still arriving at the gate as Thorin and the others mounted the battlements. He joined them, fear and apprehension roiling in his belly, though it was cut with a surge of relief to see Bard well.

“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain! We are glad to find you alive beyond hope,” he said, his face stern but hopeful.

“Why do you come to the gates of the King under the Mountain armed for war?” Thorin asked, and it was all Bilbo could do not to knock his head against the stone. 

“Why does the King under the Mountain fence himself in? Like a robber in his hole,” Bard shot back and Bilbo thought perhaps if he knocked Bard's head against Thorin's perhaps he could knock some sense into both of them. It would spare him more than one headache.

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.”

“My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. At any rate, the army is not ours,” Bard pointed out. “We have no wish to fight you, or to lay claim on any but that which is owed to us. Will you not speak with me?”

Thorin nodded, stepping away and down the stairs, to the hole that was formed in the wall, for just this purpose. Bilbo followed him, feeling the need to be there. He told Thorin he would stay beside him, and he would.

I'm listening,” Thorin said. “State your case.”

“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honour your pledge. They have no quarrel with you and wish only a small share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives.”

“I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.” Thorin was as cold as Bilbo had ever seen him, and his heart burned with the pain of it. This was not his Thorin, the Dwarf in front of him had never been so far from the real Thorin as he was now. 

“That armed host has nought to do with me. Thranduil believes that he has a claim to some part of the treasure, but we only claim that which you promised us. The fact remains, however, that Thranduil will attack this mountain, if we do not come to terms.” Bard was intense and earnest, but Bilbo had no hope that his words would sway Thorin. 

“Your threats do not sway me,” Thorin said, and Bilbo lifted his eyes to the heavens, praying for patience. “Thranduil has no claim at all, and he would attack you also if he had but the slightest reason.”

“Thranduil brought us food and water, and asks nothing in return. While I do not agree with the presence of his army, I cannot but be grateful to him for his assistance.”

“I have no food to give you, though perhaps if Thranduil had presented me with such, instead of an armed host, then I would see fit to treat with him.”

“Toss Thranduil! His quarrel with you is his own and I would have no part of it, if we could reach an agreement. What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death!” Bilbo could tell that Bard was getting more and more frustrated, and anger was not far behind. Thorin would no doubt continue to be unreasonable, and Bilbo could think of only one way to stop it. 

“When did the men of Laketown come to our aid, but for the promise of rich reward?”

“A bargain was struck!”

“A bargain? What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragon-slayer, why should I honour such terms?” 

Bilbo swallowed heavily, wanting nothing more than to tear Thorin away from this farce of a negotiation. He knew that Thorin was right, that their promise of gold in exchange for freedom had been made under duress. And yet, the people of Laketown had suffered much under the dragon's fire, and had all but nothing left to them, with winter fast approaching. 

“Because you gave us your word. Does that mean nothing?” Bard tried, fruitlessly. “We have more to offer you, Thorin. We are weak now, but with the gold we could buy food and materials, and we could rebuild together, both Dale and Erebor. We could be great allies, and Thranduil would have no choice but to be reasonable. If only you would come to your senses and end this madness!”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Bard. If you send Thranduil and his army home, then perhaps we will speak again.”

“I cannot command or predict Thranduil's actions. But if you cannot be made to see reason, I will have no choice but to stand beside him tomorrow, and fight for what is owed to us. For what we need to survive the winter. I would rather it not come to that, my people have seen enough death. We've no wish to see more.”

“I will not treat under threat of war, Bard of Dale,” Thorin said coldly. “Remove the threat and we will speak more. Stand with it and we will defend ourselves. The choice is yours. Now begone!”

Thorin turned away from the hole, and Bilbo caught a glance of a fuming Bard, who smacked the stone angrily, desperation in his eyes. 

“That choice is out of my hands, Thorin Oakenshield. I have not the power to stem the tide of war. That power lies with you alone!” he tried one last time. 

“Be gone, ere arrow fly!” Thorin called back, his face filled with cold triumph, the look turning Bilbo’s stomach. 

“What are you doing?” he asked Thorin, desperately. “You cannot go to war.”

“There is nothing to fear, my Hobbit,” Thorin said, his eyes softening just a bit as he turned to gaze at Bilbo, pleased to find him by his side.

“Excuse me? But just in case you haven’t noticed, there is an army of Elves out there! And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We are in fact outnumbered.”

Thorin smiled at him, pulling him close. “Not for much longer,” he whispered into Bilbo's ear. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you should never underestimate Dwarves,” Thorin replied. “My cousin Dain is no doubt on his way as we speak. He will fight for us, but we must find the Arkenstone.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, knowing that now was the time, now was the only time he could do anything to stop this.

“About that, Thorin,” Bilbo said, uncertainty mingling with hopelessness. But he had made his choice, and it was time to carry it out. It was best to do it now, while they had a moment of semi privacy, the others up on the battlements, no doubt having heard every word of the exchange between Thorin and Bard. 

“I...I found it,” Bilbo told him, watching the shock and disbelief in Thorin's eyes turn to hope.

“You found it...” Thorin repeated, staring at Bilbo, an odd, fiery light inside them, so like the light that he used to see, so like it that Bilbo could almost believe that Thorin was back. Almost.

“Yes, I...here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the stone. It shone in the space between them, glimmering with colour and light the likes of which Bilbo had never seen, nor could he have imagined, had the evidence not lay on his palm. It was an exceptional stone, no doubt. That it was worth all this, Bilbo was less sure. 

“My Halfling,” Thorin breathed, staring at the stone and then back up at Bilbo, a broad smile sweeping across his face. “You are truly a perfect gift from Mahal!”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo began, but Thorin ignored him, pressing closer. He took the stone from Bilbo, gazing at it in wonder before grabbing Bilbo in his arms and kissing him, hard and fast, the first time he had since the morning they'd opened the door. 

It was not a pleasant kiss, however, and Bilbo wanted no part of it. 

“Thorin, stop,” he said, once he'd managed to free his mouth. Thorin either didn't hear him or he didn't care, laving kisses over Bilbo's neck, biting him as well, harder than was pleasant. Bilbo was well aware that the others were within the range of hearing, and that they could see everything that was transpiring, if they wished. The thought froze his blood to ice, and he tried to push Thorin away. 

Even had they been alone, this was not something that Bilbo wanted. Thorin like this was not Thorin. He was harsh and cruel and did not care to brook any opinion but his own. He continued to paw at Bilbo, pulling at his clothes, his strength and size overcoming any protest that Bilbo could muster. 

“Thorin, I said no!” he yelled, pushing against him again, his mind pointing out, most unhelpfully, that this is not one of the ways he'd thought it could go wrong.

“Yes, my precious Hobbit,” Thorin said, pulling Bilbo down with him as he sank to his knees, pushing Bilbo onto the cold stone and holding him there with the weight of his body, the Arkenstone still grasped within one hand. “I will have you here, with the King's Jewel, the most precious of my treasures, together.”

“Thorin, stop,” Bilbo cried, trying to wrench himself away but having no luck. Thorin shifted and Bilbo felt the hard line of arousal that he had always loved, he had revelled in the feel of it pressed against him, but this time it was biting and painful. “I don't want this. Everyone is right there,” he tried, hoping to get through to Thorin on another level. 

It didn't work. 

“I know you are shy of your love for me,” Thorin murmured, his free hand tugging at Bilbo's shirt as he pressed their groins together, uncaring or unaware that Bilbo was not hard at all, ignoring completely his struggles for freedom. “But I want you now, and I will have you. You are mine, Hobbit, you would do well not to forget that.”

Thorin looked down at him, the harsh flare of dragon fire alive in his eyes. Bilbo knew that there was nothing he could say that would stop this, that Thorin was too far gone. Giving him the Arkenstone had been a mistake, and for the first time, he was afraid of Thorin, not for him. Deeply, seriously afraid. All the safety that Bilbo had felt in his arms, that he had relished for so long, it was all gone. 

Thorin was going to rape him here, on the cold stone under his blasted wall, and there was nothing Bilbo could do to stop him. 

Nothing, perhaps, but Bilbo struggled anyway, his attempts at escape now fuelled by raging adrenaline. Thorin ignored them as he had before, succeeding in getting Bilbo's trousers partly undone, one hand still holding the Arkenstone. Bilbo knew Thorin would never let it go, that he would never let him go. He was trapped. 

“Thorin!” came a shout from above them, followed by footsteps pounding down the rock, as Dwalin and Fili rushed toward them, grasping Thorin's arms, desperately trying to pull him off Bilbo, but Thorin was stronger, his adrenalin pumping as well. He threw them off, but in that moment Bilbo was able to slip free, to crawl backwards and away, his limbs flailing madly in the process. 

Two things happened then. Bilbo's elbow cracked into Thorin's hand, the one holding the stone, and somehow, Thorin let it go. It went skittering across the floor, the sharp, tinkling sound of it breaking through the din, making Thorin's head snap up, just as Bilbo's foot kicked out and he turned, scrambling away. 

His heel connected with Thorin's temple, hard, hard enough that Bilbo wondered if he'd broken a bone, whether in his foot or Thorin's head. No, it would have to be in his foot, as Thorin's skull was no doubt made of solid rock. 

But it was enough. The loss of the stone and the blow to the head worked together, jarring Thorin, the fire crashing out of his eyes as he took in the tableau before him with a clear head. Bilbo could see his face, all trace of madness gone, his eyes wide with shock and fear, followed quickly by disgust as he saw Bilbo several feet away, his shirt torn and his trousers half undone. 

“Bilbo,” he croaked, his voice broken, as broken as the look that came over his face when the shock had worn off and the reality of what he'd been about to do overtook him. It was the first time that he had used Bilbo's name since they had entered the mountain, and it cracked open a gate in Bilbo's chest, relief pouring out in waves. 

Bilbo was vaguely aware of Balin scooping up the stone, even as the others flanked them, half near Bilbo, to render protection if need be, and the other half, the bigger half, behind Thorin, ready to tackle him if he made another aggressive move. 

He didn't. He sat back, pushing himself further away from Bilbo, his eyes still clear and despite it all, Bilbo felt like crying with joy. 

“I'm...no, I didn't...I would never, I...” Thorin was more than on the verge of tears, they were streaming down his face though he was heedless of them, his mouth working at making sounds, but failing. He raised his shaking hands and stared at them wildly before looking back at Bilbo, the crushing reality fracturing something within him. 

“Bilbo,” he said, shaking his head in denial. “Amralime,” he whispered brokenly, his despair a knife into Bilbo's heart. 

Bilbo gasped, the tears that had been threatening were falling now, now that it was over. He knew then with utter surety that Thorin was back, that the madness had fled, for only his Thorin would be so broken in the face of the actions of a madman.

“Thorin,” he said, pushing up and moving forward, needing to take Thorin in his arms, to ensure that he was really there, that it was really real.

“No!” Thorin yelled, throwing himself further away, fear and desperation writ across his face. “No, don't, Bilbo, don't come any closer.” He clambered to his feet, taking a few more steps back as spoke.

“Don't come near me,” he cried, looking smaller and more lost than Bilbo had ever seen him. “I'll hurt you, I...I can't be trusted.”

“You can, Thorin, you're back,” Bilbo said, standing up as well, pulling his trousers together and tucking in his shirt, approaching Thorin carefully, as one would a wild animal. “The madness is gone, I can see it in your eyes.” Thorin took another step back, breaking Bilbo's heart a little more with every shaky movement.

“Please,” he said, but Thorin would have none of it. 

“No, I...no,” he said, turning away and pounding across the hall, calling out over his shoulder as he went. “Leave me be. Oin, make sure he's unhurt, please.” And then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Thorin ran. He ran through halls and up stairwells and across causeways, trying to lose himself so that maybe, just maybe, he could forget what he had almost done. So he could forget the look on Bilbo’s face in that moment, when he'd come to his senses. 

Everything he'd done had rushed through his brain, a torrent of brutal, paranoid, possessive behaviour beyond anything he'd feared he could be capable of. The sight of Bilbo desperate to get away from him, his clothes torn and his face slack with fear, would be emblazoned within his memory forever. Bilbo's fear...not fear for Thorin, which he'd seen before, but fear _of_ Thorin, had shattered open a would in Thorin's chest. He hurt, as he had never hurt before, every part of his body and soul tortured by the knowledge that, in his madness, he could have hurt Bilbo. That he would have, had the madness not been shocked out of him. 

He'd always thought that Bilbo's eventual departure would break his heart, but he'd never imagined that his own actions would break it first. 

Finally he stopped, slumped in an alcove far from the main halls, halfway up a long winding staircase. He held his still shaking hands in front of him, staring at them with utter disgust and loathing. To think that those hands had held Bilbo down against his will, had tried to force something from him that should never been forced. Something that had always been such a blessing between, that had always bridged their differences, something that Thorin valued above everything else, other than Bilbo's simple presence. 

He'd hurt Bilbo. He would have hurt him more, hurt him beyond repair. He remembered it all, every moment of the madness was held within him, every moment of the intense gold lust, every time he had doubted the loyalty of his kin. Worse yet was all the horrible things he'd said to Bilbo, his harsh, cold voice speaking words of ownership instead of love, his actions driven by a depraved possessiveness instead of the adoration in his heart. 

He'd owned the treasure, he still did, despite his sudden desire to destroy every bit of it, to never see it again, but in the depths of the madness, he'd believed that he owned Bilbo as well. As if Bilbo was merely a possession to be kept, merely a part of the hoard. 

His actions were unforgivable. 

Bilbo did not belong to anyone but himself. He was not a possession, a piece of treasure to be guarded. No matter how much Thorin treasured him, he was a person, flesh and blood and living breath, completely autonomous from Thorin's will. The thought that he would have forced himself on Bilbo, his One, the one who had inspired the purest love Thorin had ever known...it made him ill, the nausea flooding him until he tasted bile. He turned, climbing onto his knees and vomiting all over the floor. 

The poison flowed out of him endlessly, his stomach cramped and his throat burning before the end, leaving him weak and shaking as he crawled away, collapsing onto the floor, the stone soothingly cold beneath his cheek. 

He had no idea how long he'd lain there, prostrate in his grief and self loathing, before the sound of approaching footsteps breached his stupor, bringing him out of the endless cycle of self flagellation and bitter regret. 

The footsteps stopped a few feet away, and Thorin didn't need to look up to know who was there. 

“You've made quite a mess of things, haven't you?” Dwalin said, his voice lacking even the slightest bit of sympathy. Thorin was grateful, he didn't deserve it, and he couldn't have faced it.

“I...Dwalin,” he stuttered, not even knowing what to say. He pushed off the floor and sat against the opposite wall, staying far away from the mess on the floor, yet another reminder of how far he'd fallen. 

“I have ruined everything,” he said at last, leaning his head back and breathing slowly to maintain his calm, as Dwalin sat beside him. 

“Perhaps not completely,” Dwalin assured him, but Thorin was unmoved. “He's worried about you,” Dwalin continued, and Thorin winced as he realised who Dwalin was talking about. 

“How can he bear to think of me at all?” he wondered aloud. “I have hurt him. He's my very heart and soul and I would have hurt him, irreversibly, and I cannot bear it.”

Dwalin was silent, no doubt pondering his next words. He'd always been slow to speak, but when he did, Thorin was wise enough to listen. 

“All is not lost,” Dwalin insisted. “You were lost to the madness and we all know it. It wasn't you, Thorin, it was not your heart and soul in those actions and words. We all know it, especially Bilbo. It is up to him to forgive you or not, and if he does, then you must find a way to forgive yourself. If the one you have injured has given you forgiveness, then you cannot withhold it from yourself.”

Thorin was stunned by the wisdom of Dwalin's words. He was right. He must offer his forgiveness, to Bilbo, to all of them, and make sure that his actions backed up his words. If they forgave him, he had to let them. He had no right to refuse them that. 

“He promised he'd stay beside me,” Thorin said sadly. “He kept his promise. It was I who was faithless.”

“You were overcome. I am not giving you an excuse, Thorin, but do not separate yourself from us, or from Bilbo. We all care about you, and now that you are back to yourself, we do not want to lose you one more time. We want to help you heal, if you will let us.”

“How can you possibly help me after what I did? After how I treated you all? After what I almost did to Bilbo?”

“We can because we love you, and we know that together, we can move past this.”

Thorin breathed deeply, wondering if he could bring himself to follow Dwalin's advice. He wasn't sure he could face Bilbo without breaking down completely. He closed his eyes and breathed, letting his thoughts flow, away from what he had done, away from the so recent and painful past, and into the future. He had a lot to make up for, he had destroyed so much in so few days. He must face those he had wronged, from Bard and his people, to the Company, to Bilbo. Especially to Bilbo. 

“I think I know what I have to do,” he said, grateful that Dwalin was as patient with the words of others as he was with his own. 

“You have a plan, then?” Dwalin asked eagerly. He was nothing if not a Dwarf of action. 

“Yes, for the most part,” Thorin said, wanting nothing more than to hide in the mountain forever, but he did not have that option. “What time is it?” he asked, aware that it had been early morning when he had come back to himself, but he had retreated so far into the mountain that no hints of the hour were visible. 

“After dinner,” Dwalin told him. “Here. You need to eat something.” He handed over a water skin and a large chunk of cram. 

“Thank you,” he said, wetting his mouth before eating the food quickly, not tasting it. Eating was a physical necessity, but he had so many more important thins to do. He finished quickly and stood, facing Dwalin and putting his hand on his friend's shoulder, encouraged when Dwalin returned the gesture. They banged their foreheads together, hard as ever, the sting of it comforting Thorin, and it seemed to do the same for Dwalin. The gesture loosened something in Dwalin's face, and Thorin felt a similar loosening in his heart. 

“Let's go find the others,” Thorin said. “We have work to do. I will not spend another night in this accursed mountain.” He turned, heading back in the direction he'd come, letting his feet take him to more familiar pathways. He had grown up in Erebor after all, he knew its stone better than any other, no matter that he'd lived in Ered Luin for a longer stretch of years. 

They found the Company together, minus Bifur, who had taken the watch. Thorin stood motionless in the doorway as he took in their weary faces, all lined with concern. He looked quickly at Bilbo before turning away, unable to meet his eyes, unwilling to embrace the breakdown that he knew was coming. This was not the time for that. 

“To the gate,” he said quietly, aware that he had spoken those very words that morning, in a very different state of mind. “We have much to discuss, and I would have us all together.”

The Company looked at each other warily, but it was clear from the brightness of Thorin's eyes and his humble demeanour that the madness had truly broken. They followed him to the gate, where he called Bifur down from the ramparts. Once they were gathered, he took a deep breath and looked up at them soberly. 

“Firstly,” he began, praying to Mahal for the strength to get through this. “I want to apologize to each and every one of you for my behaviour over the last few days. I know,” he continued, holding up a hand for silence when it looked like they would interject. “I know that you may think I am excused, for the most part, of my actions while I was held in the grip of the madness, but I do not agree. Regardless of the reason behind my actions, you did not deserve them. So I am apologizing.” He looked at each of them in turn, ending with Bilbo, whose intense, sorrowful gaze held him frozen in place. He swallowed and looked away before continuing.

“Dwalin reminded me, if you see fit to forgive me, that it would be wrong of me to hold back from forgiving myself, so I will try my best to do so. The other side is, that you must allow me to make amends, for everything I've done.”

“We all knew, Thorin,” Balin said, moving closer, reaching out to grasp Thorin's shoulder, pulling him down until their heads met. He pulled back and smiled, acceptance and forgiveness in his eyes, and Thorin's frozen insides melted just a little bit more. “We knew you were ill, that you were not yourself. And now, we can see that the sickness has passed, that it's really you back with us again. We will accept your apology, if you will accept our forgiveness.”

Thorin found, to his dismay, that his eyes were filling with hot tears, that his heart was pounding away in his chest. He looked down, one tear slipping when the Company agreed with cheers and slaps on the back, all of them rushing towards him at once. He accepted their affection, returning hugs from Fili and Kili, and then turned back to the rest. It was time to get down to business. 

“Right then,” he said. “Now that's over, we have things to do, and quickly. The most important thing right now is that I cannot abide spending another night in this mountain. There is truly a curse on the gold, and I will not allow any of us to be affected by it any longer. When Gandalf comes back, which I hope will be soon, I will ask him to do what he can to remove it. Until then, we will set camp outside the gates, and only venture in during the days, at need. Objections?”

Thorin looked around the group, but no one had any, they were all nodding, Balin and Ori taking notes, as usual. 

“What about the wall?” Bofur asked, and Thorin nodded. That was something that had escaped him. 

“Right, the wall. We'll have to tear it down.”

“That'll take longer than putting it up did,” Dori pointed out, “if we do it by hand.” But Thorin had another plan.

“The bell,” he said, gesturing at the long silenced bell that used to hang above the main hall, chiming the time. “We'll use it as a battering ram, it'll be quick and the clean up won't be too hard, I think. Dori, Nori, Bifur, you lot take care of that.”

They nodded their agreement, and Thorin moved on to the next point of business.

“I have no intention of giving a single piece of the treasure to Bard, or anyone else, until Gandalf has seen to it. I have no idea what trouble it may cause, as men as much more influenced by that type of magic. However, I think it prudent that we prepare a contract outlining what he can expect, although I believe he will be sceptical, and rightly so.”

“I can get on that right away, laddie,” Balin said, and Thorin nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 

“Get Ori to help you with the transcribing,” he said, nodding at the Dwarf in question. “You'll need the help because I want you to write one up for Thranduil as well.”

“You can't be serious,” Dwalin said with a growl, but Thorin stopped him with a look. 

“I am,” he said firmly. “While I despise the pointy eared tree hugger, the fact is, his help will be vital to the survival of everyone this winter, Dwarves as well as Men. We need food and medicines, and perhaps linens if our stores prove empty. Oin, and Gloin, you find as much linen as you can, clothes and blankets and what not, oh, and see if you can't find any tents. I don't fancy sleeping under the stars when it starts to snow.”

“You got it,” Gloin said, slapping his brother on the back. 

“Bofur, Bombur, take stock of our food stores, there should be some things at least that the dragon did not destroy. Much was preserved every year, and I'm certain you'll find some that is still in good condition.”

“Aye, we're on it,” Bofur said, while Bombur nodded his agreement. 

“Fili, Kili, you two go with Dwalin and find us some gear for the camp. Cots, stoves, whatever you can lay your hands on. We'll need it. Dain should be here sometime tomorrow, so there will be plenty of help after that. First thing in the morning I will set out to talk to Bard and Thranduil, and get our issues sorted. We'll all have to wait for the Wizard, but in the meantime, we can make a start. Agreed?”

There was a rousing chorus of agreement, and Thorin smiled, truly, for the first time in days. It felt amazing. He did not deserve the devotion and loyalty of his Company, but he would accept their forgiveness and assistance willingly. 

“One more thing, before we get started,” Thorin said, knowing that this next decision was likely to be the hardest for him to go through with, although, if he continued to feel the way he did in that moment, perhaps it would not be a problem. 

“The Arkenstone.” Just saying the word had the Company tense and wary again, and Thorin winced, his shame threatening to overtake him once more. “I want it gone,” he continued, to the obvious relief of the others. 

“I don't know which of you scooped it up this morning, but I ask that you keep it hidden. When Gandalf returns I will have it given to him, to do with as he will. On this however, I need your most serious agreement.”

“Won't Dain and the others want to see it, to assure themselves of your right to rule?” Dwalin asked.

“Yes, they will,” Thorin agreed. “But I cannot bear to have it near me, or anywhere in this mountain. We will tell anyone who asks that the stone was never recovered. It was consumed by the dragon. I will rule this mountain and if any choose not to pledge their loyalty to me without the stone, they can go elsewhere. Before the stone was found no King needed such a token to ensure his right to rule, he was the King and it was not doubted. As such, I do not need it now. It will disappear, understood? I must have your oaths on this. Not a word must be spoken on this matter, from now on. Whoever has it can surrender it to Gandalf when he arrives, and I will ensure that he knows the task is my wish.”

The Company looked grim but relieved, for which Thorin could not blame them. “Excellent. Let's begin. The night is fast upon us.”

They all dispersed, intent on their tasks, leaving Thorin face to face with his. The biggest task, the most important one. The hardest one. He had to apologize to Bilbo, he had hurt him the worst, he had broken Bilbo's trust. He had broken his trust in himself. He did not feel equal to the task, but he could not bear being at odds with Bilbo, no matter what the result. In this he feared he would have the hardest time following Dwalin's advice. How could he forgive himself for touching Bilbo against his will? For putting that fear into his eyes?

He had begun to accept that he did not deserve Bilbo's love or his trust. If he could gain the latter back, then perhaps they could part as friends. Bilbo had always intended to leave, and Thorin was certain that nothing had changed. If anything, the events of that morning would be more incentive for him to leave. 

Thorin couldn't bring himself to pray to Mahal that Bilbo would stay. Not anymore. He did not deserve such a gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnd, yeah. So this got a little intense, pretty quick. If you're here for a trigger warning, know that there is a madness fuelled encounter that I can only define as attempted rape. Have a care, but keep in mind the context, okay folks? 
> 
> Right, otherwise, I hope the story is moving along all right. This chapter was really, really hard to write, so please let me know what you think. Good, bad or ugly, I appreciate the comments.


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